


Two Thrones #ClexaWeek2017

by RaeDMagdon



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Clexa Week, Clexa Week 2017, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Fingering, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Oral Sex, Vanilla, room mates, stuck together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 02:57:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10067393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/pseuds/RaeDMagdon
Summary: Written for Clexa Week 2017.Clarke can't look at Lexa without burning.She can't look at that face, black streaks smeared around green eyes, jaw as straight and hard as a blade, without her teeth clenching and her nails biting into her palms.(She remembers Lexa's lips, so soft and warm against hers).





	

**I. Enemies to Lovers**

Clarke can't look at Lexa without burning.

She can't look at that face, black streaks smeared around green eyes, jaw as straight and hard as a blade, without her teeth clenching and her nails biting into her palms.

(She remembers Lexa's lips, so soft and warm against hers).

She can't listen to that voice, sharp and clipped when addressing her subjects, but so sorrowful and heavy when it addresses her, without tears of rage welling in her eyes.

(She remembers the way Lexa murmurs her name, quietly, as if addressing someone close that she still can't quite touch).

Lexa has left a mark on her, a brand that refuses to fade, and she despises it with her every waking moment. Her mind will focus on nothing else, not even survival.

(She will throw herself at Lexa, sitting imperiously atop her twisted throne, and end her, even knowing it will mean death).

The burning in her body tears out her throat, but her screams are useless. They drag her away.

(She hates that she can't forget the kiss, and she hates that even after three months alone in the wilderness, Lexa's tears still threaten to thaw her shields of ice).

 

**II. Roommates**

She has been trapped in this room for several long days.

She isn't sure how many. Her mind jumps through time—one moment, she's at the base of Mount Weather, watching Lexa tear away from her and turn her back; the next, she's rolling her tongue against Lexa's bottom lip, tasting happiness.

The room is one hundred and ten paces in either direction. She's counted.

Sometimes, Lexa comes to stand outside her door.

She's silent except for her breathing, but Clarke can sense her anyway. She senses hesitation, regret, and sadness, and she relishes the fact that she has made Lexa feel something awful.

It is the only thing that brings her any sort of comfort, the only thought that soothes the festering ache of hatred.

(She wishes she could cut the wound, cut her heart, out of her chest and get it over with. The Commander of Death craves Death herself.)

When Lexa enters her prison at last, it isn't a surprise. Her presence in front of the door has grown stronger and stronger.

Clarke turns toward the window—facing away. Lexa should know all about facing away.

"What part of 'I won't see you' is unclear?"

They talk.

Every word is another cut.

(Death by one thousand cuts).

When Lexa leaves only a few minutes later, Clarke feels as if she has lived another hundred years and her bones ache with weariness.

She hadn't been lying when she said she could hate both Lexa and herself. She does both, every second of every minute of every day, and she will for the rest of her life.

 

**III. Stuck Together**

It's so simple in her head.

Pin Lexa to the wall. Draw the blade across her throat. Feel the righteous spill of hot blood on her hands.

She wants it. By all of Earth, she wants it—wants to use Lexa as a vessel for her anger and take the life of the woman who has tormented her every waking moment for the past three months.

But Lexa is staring at her with such acceptance in those green eyes, and she cannot bring herself to become  _ Wanheda _ .

Her pain is too great. Lexa's face is too soft.

(She feels pain at the thought of causing Lexa pain, despite all the pain Lexa has caused her).

When Lexa whispers, "I'm sorry," something in her breaks.

She turns away, tears running down her cheeks. She unclenches her trembling fingers and drops the knife to the floor.

(It feels as though she is discarding something much heavier).

Lexa murmurs words of freedom, words about her mother, but Clarke knows she will never be free, and she will never go back.

She and Lexa are bound. Stuck together. Their fates are already too tightly entwined.

She knows what she has to do. It isn’t so much a choice as destiny.

(It's just her luck that her destiny is with the woman she wants to hate above all others… and yet, her destiny is also with the woman who understands her above all others).

 

**IV. Fake Dating**

As she passes through the crowd, each step echoes beneath her. She can't hear it above the breathing, the shifting, the soaring notes of song, but she can feel them in her feet.

(It almost reminds her of a marriage, walking toward fate).

She tries to fix her gaze somewhere beyond Lexa's head, but her eyes are riveted. In the candlelight, she almost wonders if the Commander is smiling.

With the world's eyes on her, she sinks to her knees.

It is galling. Humiliating. It fills her with more hate than she has ever held. But hold it she does, and after a few moments, it fades, then disappears. It is replaced by a curious emptiness, a hollow pit.

(She no longer feels like  _ Wanheda, _ but she has no idea what else, or who else, she is supposed to be).

It is only hours later, after chaos has broken out and settled once more, and after the crowds are gone, that she finds an answer.

When Lexa bows before her,  _ only _ before her, hair pulled back, cheeks cast in gold, lips slightly parted in hope, Clarke understands.

She will no longer be angry. She will be strong instead. She will do whatever it takes to protect her people, to serve them—even if it means joining forces with the woman she has wished death on for so long.

She offers Lexa her hand.

(She no longer wishes for Lexa's death. Perhaps this isn't all pretend.)

 

**V. Friends to Lovers**

At first, she is certain she will not go.

Lexa's death will surely mean the deaths of her people as well, and she has no wish to watch Lexa fight only to fail her a second time. But something in her compels her feet to follow the noise of the crowd.

(She pulls her hood over her face, not to shield it from the sun, but because she is afraid of being seen. She knows what it is to hide).

She arrives to raucous shrieks and cheers that sound more like wailing, but they are faint, distant—she has eyes only for Lexa.

When Lexa sees her as well, they both freeze. They stare at each other, speaking without speaking.

Only Lexa does speak, and when she says, "I'm glad you came," Clarke cannot deny that she is glad, too.

(She has no wish to watch Lexa die any longer, but she does wish to see Lexa win).

The fight begins.

When Lexa stumbles, she can't breathe.

When Lexa lands a strike, her heart soars.

When Lexa loses her swords, falling to the ground, it stops beating altogether.

And when, against all odds, Lexa manages to knock Roan, bloodied and beaten, backwards onto the sand, she cheers.

Despite the uncertainty of the future, she smiles the rest of the day, because Lexa is alive. Alive. Alive.

(How rapidly her heart has changed).

That night, she allows Lexa into her room and wraps her hand in a clean cloth.

When Lexa thanks her, she reminds the Commander that this friendship of theirs is only for her people.

(But, really, she is reminding herself. And failing).

 

**VI. Canon Divergent**

It is back to this. Back to Lexa kissing her again. They have come full circle, and Clarke’s head is spinning, because she has no idea how they’ve come here again.

Or perhaps she does know. Perhaps she has always known. Perhaps that is why her hurt has been so deep for so long.

(The first time, it was crackling, electric, hot—a fire. This time, it is deep and powerful—the waves of an ocean).

When Lexa gazes up at her from the edge of the bed, bathed in sunlight, Clarke’s heart breaks. Or maybe it’s mending. The hurt feels clean.

She straddles Lexa’s hips, and they roll onto the bed, limbs twining together.

(Clothes scatter. Hands wander).

Lexa is so warm inside. Warm enough to send a flush through Clarke’s own skin until sweat sprouts along her spine. When she’d imagined plunging something into Lexa just a few weeks ago, it hadn’t been her fingers. Lexa makes soft noises, and Clarke drinks them with her lips until the tightness around her quivers and ripples.

The river running into her hand flows slower and Lexa’s gasps become shallow pants.

Clarke is unsure (What has she done? Why has she done it?) until strong hands grasp her waist and flip her over.

She is utterly weak beneath Lexa’s mouth. It latches between her legs, and she shouts. She is being devoured, and it is bliss.

The soft glide of Lexa’s tongue shatters her with each stroke.

She greets the stars again, only this time, her hand is holding Lexa’s while she does.

(She wants to stay here with Lexa forever. She  _ will _ stay here with Lexa forever. She is free).

 

**VII. The End**

Two thrones sit atop the great tower of Polis.

One is older, made of scarred and twisted wood. It is draped in red.

One is newer, made of shiny silver metal. It is draped in blue.

The thrones are close enough that, if she wishes, Clarke can reach across the gap and hold Lexa’s hand.


End file.
